


Spite

by Cards_Slash



Series: Sass Verse [7]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:58:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: In which Kadar tries to ask Federico and Ezio for permission to marry the woman he's already married to, Altair just wants some new cabinets, Claudia decides to go tell her Mother how she feels, and Ezio gets puked on.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I will soon quit writing these. I promise.

> **Kadar**
> 
> Two things.  
> One, I’m in Italy.
> 
> Why
> 
> Two, save the date June 23, next year.
> 
> is that your wedding
> 
> Yes  
>  And if it comes up Claudia is pissed you got married in May  
>  Now we cant get married in may  
>  I don’t even know why she wants to get married in may  
>  We actually got married in December but that doesn’t matter  
>  But youre on her shit list  
>  So don’t bring it up.
> 
> why are you in Italy
> 
> Im supposed to talk to her brothers about how I want to marry her
> 
> good luck

Desmond had been volunteered to be a moderator, but he just stood to the side looking sleepy with a cup of coffee in one hand an unused notepad in the other. Peyton was amused with a selection of paper and markers that she’d spread out across the kitchen floor almost a full half-hour ago. “Put your phones down,” he said.

Malik had only bothered to check his because Altair had scoffed at Malik in disgust over his disagreement about replacing _all the cabinets_ in the kitchen. The word ‘cost’ had come up in Malik’s counterargument and Altair had immediately set into how inexpensive cabinets were. Either he hadn’t proved himself right or he hadn’t found the cabinets he wanted, either way he was still staring at his phone.

Peyton rolled over onto her back with an exaggerated groan and threw her legs and arms out in every direction so they would understand the true depth of her boredom and disapproval. Just to be sure they knew how she felt, she added, “what’s taking so long,” with every syllable stretched as far as it could possibly go.

Desmond heaved a sigh and stepped sideways to set his cup on the subpar countertop before pulling a pen out of his back pocket and flipping open his notepad. “Ok, each of you are getting a column. Take turns, don’t argue, list everything you want to change about the house. Altair,” he said as he pointed the pen at his cousin, “you cannot say ‘demolish it and start again’.”

“That’s what I want,” he said.

“New carpet or hardwood floors,” Malik said.

“New bathrooms,” Altair said. 

Malik wanted to point out that there was nothing wrong with the damn bathrooms but Desmond just pointed the pen at him like he could feel the words bubbling up and so he clenched his teeth and ignored the stupidity of replacing perfectly serviceable bathrooms. “I’d like an all weather room.”

“Full-sized laundry room,” Altair said.

“You don’t need a laundry room!” Malik said. “That—you don’t even know how to use a washer. I do know how to use one and that’s why I know that you don’t need an entire room. You need a washer and a dryer and some laundry baskets!”

“You can’t argue!” Altair was _delighted_ by the rule, it showed up all over his face. He was practically bouncing with happiness while Desmond scribbled down what he’d said. “It’s on the list.”

“Preliminary list,” Desmond corrected. Then he looked at Malik.

“He’s going to need a shed to live in,” Malik said.

Desmond waved his hand at that, “we’re building a shed and a tree house after you two stop arguing about the house. We’re taking out the fence and connecting the yards. There’s also going to be a patio and neither of you get a say in the yard unless you want to fight Lucy. So.”

“New appliances,” Malik said.

“New cabinets,” Altair countered.

Malik was grinding his teeth while Altair was smiling at him and Peyton huffed again from where she was laying on the floor. She started singing, “how long is this going to take,” over and over again. 

\--

**notyourbrother** : @ **guyfawkes23** , Italy, not England. (4m ago)  
**guyfawkes23** : @ **notyourbrother** , you keep making excuses. Italy is Europe and my afternoon schedule has open availability. (4m ago)  
**bestofthree** : @ **guyfawkes23** , @ **notyourbrother** , he’s mine right now, you’ll have to wait your turn. (1m ago)

“Shaun wants to sleep with Altair, not me.” Kadar said. He was sitting on the end of Claudia’s childhood bed—a massive, heavy thing that had to be at least a queen, if not king sized thing. Whether she had always had a certain leaning toward gilded picture frames and Renaissance art, or whether she had never been given the option, the whole bedroom gave him the feeling of being trapped in an indie movie. “You sure you grew up in this room?”

Claudia stuck her head out of the en suite, her hair was loose again, her shirt had dematerialized and she appeared to be working her stockings off her legs. All the picture of prim-and-proper she’d put on for the _incredibly long_ plane ride was being dropped on the floor. “We had five houses,” Claudia said. Then, when she’d escaped the stockings, she stepped back out wearing nothing but her bra (that she was unfastening) and her skirt. “Why?” she asked, “doesn’t it look like my room?”

No. It definitely did not. “Not so much,” he said. “So,” he looked up at her face when she was close enough to start working his buttons loose. His hands were magnetized to her skin, finding their way to the curve of her waist and moving upward to slip his fingers under her bra. It slid down her arms when his fingers touched it, and he momentarily forgot what he even meant to say. “Uh, your brothers are going to say yes, right? This is a formality?”

Claudia shrugged. She was impatient about buttons, so her hands yanked his shirt up and he had to lift his arm to let her strip it off. She took the undershirt too, and stood there looking unimpressed with how he was still wearing pants. While Kadar was _exhausted_ from hours and hours on a plane, and trying to have a _real_ conversation; he also hadn’t seen Claudia in almost two weeks since she’d been called away on business. “They will say yes,” she said agreeably as soon as his pants were in puddles around his ankles. He sat on the edge of the bed and she pulled the side zipper of her skirt down. “They will probably harass you first, but they will say yes in the end.” She pushed her skirt and her panties down and stepped out of them. “I missed you,” she said with her fingers cupping his face. 

“I missed you too,” he said back and he wrapped his arms around her to drag her down with him as he laid back on the bed. Her fingernails dug into his back and they rolled and wiggled until they were in the middle of the bed with her on her back and her hair fanned out all around them. 

\--

> **Kadar**
> 
> If you ever want to get dicked again you might need to give up the cabinets man  
> He sent me a dissertation on cabinets  
> What the hell is wrong with the cabinets
> 
> I don’t like them.
> 
> Ok what have I told you. Make something up. He just needs an excuse  
>  I just lost three weeks of my life reading these texts
> 
> what did he say about the bathrooms?
> 
> Well he knows you’ve got that thing about bathrooms  
>  However, you don’t have secret childhood cabinet trauma.
> 
> what if I presented my ideas in art form?
> 
> Just come up with a convincing excuse  
>  ‘divorce rates have been proven to increase proportionally with the age of cabinets’  
>  ‘I read it online, sixty percent of children with old cabinets cry when you drop them off at kindergarten’
> 
> I’ve been told to leave you alone since youre committing suicide
> 
> I’m not killing myself. I’m asking to marry my wife.  
>  She said it’ll be fine
> 
> That’s their own sister you know
> 
> And you’ve put your dick in her.
> 
> Considering the obscene number of women they have put their dick in, I feel they have no legs to stand on.
> 
> Yes but none of those women were their sister
> 
> I think
> 
> Who knows with Federico.  
>  Claudia probably would have mentioned it though.  
>  I think.
> 
> Probably.
> 
> No telling about Ezio though.
> 
> Ezio definitely would have mentioned it. Every day.

“You’re stupid,” Altair said when he dropped the phone on the bedside table. It accurately summed up his every thought for the overall unfortunate mess of a day. “Why do cabinets even matter?”

Malik just sighed at him. “It’s never just cabinets.”

“We’re supposed to live in this house,” Altair said. “You’ve already gone on and on about how we don’t need maids or people to buy our groceries—fine, whatever, if you want to live like barbarians, but we have to live there. Why can’t we make it how we want it?”

“There’s barely anything wrong with it,” Malik said.

Altair considered that a moment. He fiddled with his blanket that was wrapped around his leg and stretched his toes to bump against London. She didn’t even so much as bark at him but shifted so she was just beyond reach. “We can build a cat wall in the all weather room.”

“You said those were ugly,” Malik said.

“I want cabinets,” Altair said.

“You want to redo the whole kitchen.”

“Yes. But I’ll exchange a cat wall for cabinets and secure the appliances and new flooring with sexual favors.” 

Malik smiled, the exact same way he always did when he was going to give in despite himself. The smile was quick and gone again, slipping away from his face so he could frown. “I already said we needed new appliances.” And he’d said they needed new flooring too, but he didn’t seem to remember that. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’re impossible,” Altair said. He slid down under the blanket and waited a second for Malik to quit reading (which he never did) and when it didn’t happen he just grabbed his husband (one of his new favorite words) by the knees and pulled him down so he was slouching against the headboard. It gave him easy access to most of his favorite parts of Malik’s body. 

“You’re impatient,” Malik said.

“You should have just let me do it this morning,” he answered back. He got up on his knees under the blanket and pulled Malik’s sleep pants down off his hips. “Desmond wasn’t even awake when we got there, we had so much time.” And he could have continued the argument, but Malik propped the book up on the pillow next to him so he could shove Altair’s face down just to shut him up. 

\--

> **Malik**
> 
> Just ask them.  
> Why are you making this a big deal?
> 
> Says the man who didn’t have to ask the scary dead woman for her grandson’s hand in marriage
> 
> I doubt that’s how this arrangement would have gone  
>  He’s a man
> 
> He wore the dress, ergo you have to ask to marry him
> 
> I’m not sure his grandmother would have agreed.
> 
> Altair asking Mom to marry you wouldn’t have gone any better
> 
> Did Claudia ask Mom if she could marry you?
> 
> She said she told Mom that she was going to marry me two years ago
> 
> Apparently Mom said marriage was a serious commitment but that she supported the match
> 
> What?  
>  Were you even dating Claudia two years ago?
> 
> I was not. We weren’t even making out back then.
> 
> Are we 100 percent Claudia hasn’t already asked her brothers
> 
> I don’t think she has. This is some rite of passage thing sacred to the family line. I have to do it because I have the penis even though she’s the clear leader
> 
> Is that what she said
> 
> Yes, pretty much

Nothing in Kadar’s brief, uninteresting, decidedly lower-middle-class life prepared him for the reality of the staggering, unnecessary excess of wealth showcased in the Auditore ancestral home. While he’d heard all kinds of talk of ‘the silver’ on TV and assumed (without really thinking about it) that such a thing as actually _silver_ utensils existed he still wasn’t prepared to see such a set in real life.

“How old is your family?” Kadar whispered. There was nobody else in the room with them; and Claudia seemed entirely disinterested in the glass-doored cabinet that housed (what he assumed) was unused dinnerware. He couldn’t even be completely certain it cost nearly as much as it looked like, but the display was intimidating nonetheless. “I mean, how many generations have lived here?”

Claudia hummed (what she did when she was thinking), “I’m not certain. The 1400’s at least. Ezio is named after some ancestor from then.” She was wearing pajamas (looking out of place among finery) when she shuffled back over to look at the cabinet with him. “Is this one of the things I won’t understand?”

“Do you use these dishes?” He was nearly a hundred percent sure there was gold in the plates. For all he knew the cups were made of diamonds. 

“Only on holidays when the family visits,” she said. And it amused her. “They were my Mother’s pride. She used to tell us the stories of our Grandparents, and our great grandparents and how they had come to own these plates.” Then she paused a moment, “she left out that she caused a great scandal when she seduced our father.”

“Really?”

“Mm,” Claudia said. Her hand slid into his, so that her fingers were threaded through. She had that fuzzy look she got whenever she was thinking about her Mother. “Well, Nonna introduced her around to all the families but everyone knew that Mother wasn’t one of them. It’s very important that we make worthy matches,” she said. “Mother didn’t say but I imagine Father’s parents were very displeased with his choice to marry her. Federico says Nonna most likely shut them up by pouring money into their businesses and they were too flattered to notice she was stealing their livelihood and their family name.”

“So, what do those people say about your brothers’?”

Claudia shrugged. “Federico made a good match. Cristina came from a proper family; she was raised to understand the expectations of her place in the family and she is an incredible hostess and a devoted mother and wife.” She scoffed at that. “I think, perhaps, the family does not know she watches her husband have sex with his cousin.” 

“I still don’t understand that,” Kadar said. 

Claudia waved her hand in the air. “I would not try. They defy explanation. Ezio is charming; they love him despite his faults. If he marries Sofia; they will prod and poke at her because she was not born to privilege but it doesn’t matter. Federico has secured our good family name and a future generation of well-raised children.” She pulled him away from the cabinet and toward the kitchen where they had intended to go to start with. 

“Are we going to have children?” Kadar asked.

“Do you want children?” Claudia asked back. She let go of his hand once they were safely in the kitchen (after dark). She was familiar with it, easily finding the well-disguised fridge (it looked like a cabinet or a part of the wall) while he stood by the island. 

“I think Malik’s going to have kids,” Kadar said. “If he has some, I won’t have to, you know?”

Claudia smiled at that and pulled out a dish of left overs. “I was born selfish. I have neither the natural inclination or the obligation to have children. I would have them if you wanted them; but I don’t want them otherwise.”

“They’re cute, you know. When you can give them things and then leave.” He spread his hands across the top of the island (as cold as it was) and said, “so where are your brothers? What am I supposed to say? They do know we’re dating, don’t they?”

Claudia opened a second cabinet to take out plates and set them down next to her dish of unidentifiable leftovers. She was impatient at the question, muttering in Italian too quickly for him to catch the meaning. “They know we are dating. You say, I want to marry your sister, they harass you and then tell you that I am free to do what I want.”

“And I don’t mention that we’re already married.”

“Preferably not.”

Kadar sighed. “So, where are they?”

“Most likely asleep; its three in the morning. You can talk to them tomorrow.” 

\--

> **Lucy**
> 
> I’m going to punch your brother in the nuts
> 
> He probably deserves it, but why
> 
> He throws a temper tantrum about kitchen cabinets  
>  Altair calls me because he needs to do research  
>  Its been three hours and we’re still walking around this kitchen warehouse store  
>  Altair’s wearing a suit, Peyton’s got kool aid on her shirt  
>  I’ve lost my ability to give a fuck about cabinets
> 
> Did Desmond have to talk to your parents about marrying you?
> 
> Well he didn’t marry my parents  
> He married me  
> And I definitely am the one that asked him
> 
> I thought you got married because of Mrs. Finch
> 
> That was our fake wedding  
>  Our really marriage was my idea.
> 
> Apparently rich people sail
> 
> But as a man thing, so they left the women and children at home
> 
> It seems like the perfect set up to kill me
> 
> So if this proposal goes poorly
> 
> punch Malik for me
> 
> Will do.  
>  Seriously though, you’re like the second most amazing guy I know. Claudia and you are great together. Don’t worry about the brothers

There was no back to the boat. Kadar hadn’t been asked but shoved out of bed (far too early in the morning) and informed by his wife that he was going ‘sailing’ with her brothers. While he’d made it through putting on clothing (mostly because she was especially adept at buttoning and unbuttoning his shirts) and being directed to the vehicle that was taking them to the marina (he was fairly sure that was what they called the parking lot for boats), he hadn’t truly woken up until he was standing at the tail end of the ‘sailing yacht’.

“Where’s the rest of it?” he asked.

Federico was too busy not caring about Kadar’s existence to answer, but Ezio was dating (bot of) Malik’s best friend(s) and therefore obligated to be nice to Kadar. He had a pack of supplies for the day that he threw from the dock to his brother already standing on the backless boat. “It is perfectly safe,” Ezio assured him. “Can you swim?”

“Well enough to not drown in a pool,” Kadar answered.

“You will be fine.”

That wasn’t comforting. Kadar lingered on the dock, thinking uncharitable things about his wife and her family until he absolutely had to get on the boat. He was staring at the abrupt nothing at the back of it while Ezio was giving him a general tour of the thing. He’d only listened as far as ‘sit there’ and ‘below deck’ before he couldn’t concentrate on anything _except_ the nothing at the back of the boat.

That was before the boat started moving. The brothers were entirely self-contained, apparently born with innate rich-man sailing ability, whatever they did with the sails and the wheel made the boat go and the land that had been so very close a moment ago was suddenly far enough away that Kadar’s heart felt like it was going to break through his chest wall. 

He wasn’t afraid of water (before that exact moment). 

Once they were smoothly moving through the water, (the water of unknown depth and type; the water that seemed to rock the boat back-and-forth while Kadar was sitting completely still. The water that was making his stomach ball itself up into fist-tight knots), Federico sat on the seats opposite him with a cold drink in one hand and a cigarette (he hadn’t let yet) in the other. “Is there a particular reason our sister invited you?”

“Yes,” Kadar said. He wasn’t vying for being bold and cryptic (or even trying to challenge Federico, the single most feral cousin of the bunch), but suddenly putting all his attention into not puking. His hands were trying to find a grip on the edge of the leathery cushions but they were bleached-white and completely smooth. 

“Just nothing you feel like sharing?” Federico prompted. He lit his cigarette and put his elbow over the back of the cushions in a careless gesture. He clearly had no interest in self-preservation; or otherwise no fear of the water or his brother’s ability to drive the boat. “Are you still ‘just friends’ with her?”

Kadar was almost sure Claudia had mentioned to her brothers they were dating, but the boat tipped in a way that made him feel like he was going to slide backward off it and his whole body went suddenly numb and cold as he all but threw himself in the opposite direction. He ended up on his knees in the space between the two seats. 

“It was just a turn,” Ezio said. He kept one of his hands around the skinny silver wheel that he was using to control the ship and stepped toward Kadar in a friendly, vaguely concerned way. “Are you alright?” Ezio asked. 

Kadar meant to say that he was absolutely fine, but he ended up vomiting all over the deck instead. If that weren’t embarrassing enough, Ezio jumped backward as if his very life depended on it, tripped over something and landed face-down. Without a hand on the wheel, the boat decided to turn itself and Ezio—flailing to get back to his feet—slid right off the end of the backless boat. His palms squeaking across the floor as they went. 

Federico—who should have immediately jumped into action to save his brother and right the ship—was _violently_ laughing, doubled over on the seat to his left. The man was laughing like he was _dying_ sobbing for breath as the boat careened wildly to the side. He mumbled ‘oh fuck’ (or the Italian equivalent) as he stuck the cigarette in his mouth and stepped over the puddle of vomit (which had been spread across the deck by the motion of the boat) and grabbed the wheel. As soon as he’d managed to bring the vessel under the control, he leaned against the wheel and turned back to squint at the water. “Are you alive?” he shouted.

Like a genuine horror movie, Ezio’s arm slapped across the deck before he managed to pull himself upward enough so his head was visible. There was blood just _steaming_ out of his mouth, down his neck in long watery spider webs, soaking into his already soaked shirt. His hair was flattened to his skull, and he lifted himself up to sit on the deck, flooding it with enough water to make Kadar feel every so slightly like puking a second time. “As if you care,” is what Ezio said to his brother.

Federico just started laughing again, like he’d only bothered to stop out of obligation. It collapsed his whole body so that he was sitting on the edge of the boat, clinging to the wheel with two fingers and _crying_ with laughter. 

Ezio wiped his face with his wet hands and pushed his hair back out of his face. The blood that was seeping out of his mouth didn’t stop even after he pulled his shirt up to wipe at it. Whatever the injury, it didn’t seem to bother him nearly as much as his hair being plastered to his face did. 

“Sorry,” Kadar said.

Federico just laughed _harder_.

Ezio turned his head and spit blood into the water before he got to his feet. “First time on a boat?” he asked when he got close enough to get an arm under Kadar’s shoulder. He was far too short to be any good at dragging him to his feet, but the initial momentum was helpful enough. “Come on,” he said. 

Below deck, the motion of the water was no less intense, but the anxiety of flying backward off a boat was somewhat less pressing. Ezio shoved him so he fell onto one of the couches. “Sit,” he said, “stay. We’ll take you back to the dock.”

He rifled through a cabinet and produced a couple of towels. One of which he used to scrub his hair dry and the other he just carried up to the deck, presumably to use to clean up the vomit all over his (most likely very expensive) yacht.

\--

> **Kadar**
> 
> your wife texted to tell me you were an international embarrassment
> 
> Shut up you throw tantrums about cabinets  
>  For fucks sake malik, let the man replace the cabinets
> 
> you threw up on Ezio
> 
> I threw up at him, not on him
> 
> Sofia called to tell me Ezio almost bit his tongue in half
> 
> That’s an exaggeration.
> 
> you threw him off a boat.
> 
> He slid off
> 
> im not wrong about the cabinets
> 
> I don’t know why you even pick these fights  
>  Do you even care
> 
> I care a little
> 
> MY MARRIAGE IS ON THE LINE  
>  I’ve been here two days and all I’ve done is almost break Ezios face!
> 
> no its not, you’re already married 
> 
> unless Claudia divorces you for disfiguring her brother
> 
> Fuck you Malik.  
>  Just fuck you.

Altair invited himself into Malik’s office wearing approximately nothing, dripping water from his hair looking like he had only made it three-fourths through a decent pornographic daydream. While they had established the ‘daily sex’ rule prior to getting married (possibly the only rule that Altair had come very close to putting into contract form), the bastard had been gone from dawn until long after dark the day before. Malik was willing to overlook Altair’s business obligations but the hours he spent torturing Lucy with a kitchen showroom seemed ill-spent.

“You have breakfast yet?” Altair asked. 

“It’s eleven thirty.” He had eaten breakfast, four hours ago, when he woke up. 

Altair turned almost all the way around to see the clock and then smiled at it, all sweet-and-loving. He turned his head back around to share his smile with Malik (but it wasn’t for him, it was for the clock), and he said, “it’s lunch time,” like that was the very same thing as ‘so we can have sex now’. He motioned at the computer screen in front of Malik, “is this time sensitive?”

“No,” Malik said.

“Race you to the bed?” Altair offered.

Malik was a respectable adult and he was absolutely certain that he was going to turn down that ludicrous offer, and that must have been why he was throwing himself forward out of the seat rather than agreeing out loud. Altair shouted at him as he ran down the hallway behind him, they both slammed into the doorway at the same time. They were idiots trying to muscle their way into the room first. Altair wrapped both his arms around Malik (because he was a cheater) and pulled his feet off the ground. 

He let Altair drag him across the room and then jerked out of his hold in the last second so he could throw himself onto the bed. And he was breathless with achievement while Altair stared at him with red-faced-betrayal. “Cheater!” he said. But that didn’t stop him from jumping into bed after him.

\--

> **Mom**
> 
> You will be fine.
> 
> I don’t feel like I will be
> 
> Yes, well. You will be. Just wait for the right moment.
> 
> I guess

Federico was delighted by the story of their day on the yacht. He regaled the whole family with dramatic retellings of it. Ezio endured the snickering and laughter with his usual charm and made a spectacle out of showing off how he had bit his tongue (and it looked like it should hurt more than Ezio seemed to think it did). 

Kadar said nothing and Claudia (sitting opposite him) seemed to agree that he shouldn’t speak up in his defense. Or possibly at all, ever again. So, he suffered through dinner, politely, and quietly. When it was time to clean up, the children were dismissed to play in the yard and the women immediately fell into the task of cleaning up. 

Claudia was aggressively stacking dishes while her brothers excused themselves. As soon as they were out of range to hear, she slapped one dish onto the stack and turned on him so fast one might have thought she meant to kill him. She was _angry_ not amused.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said before she could accuse him of vomiting on purpose.

“I do realize that,” didn’t seem like she did. “Go in there and just get it over with. I expected that we wouldn’t still need to be here.”

“Where else are we going?” he whispered. He looked briefly over at Sofia (who seemed like she wouldn’t have been as easy-going about being left in the kitchen to wash up the dishes) and Cristina (who he knew almost nothing about) and both of them were pretending to see nothing. “Claudia,” he said, “it’s not just that simple. I don’t even know what to say to them.”

“You say: I love Claudia and I want to marry her.”

Well, that was oversimplifying things. Kadar sighed. He might have said something else but she pushed his chair away from the table like he wasn’t a good foot taller and untold pounds heavier than she was. He stood up and resisted dragging his feet, “where are they?”

Cristina, who had been avoiding being a witness to a crime, said, “I’ll take you,” like she was doing him a favor. And when they were in the hallway leading to wherever they were going, she said, “it’s best to ask Federico directly because he distrust anyone that isn’t straightforward. If you want something from Ezio, you should compliment him. He is especially vulnerable to being told how kind and good-natured he is.”

“Is he kind or good-natured?” Kadar asked.

Cristina paused outside the door to what appeared to be some kind of classic, dim den/man cave. She was smiling when she said, “well, he thinks he is.” Then she left him to his untimely demise.

Kadar stepped past the threshold of the room and said, “can I join you?”

Federico was already sitting in a massive armchair with what Kadar guessed was some obscenely expensive liquor in a fancy glass and Ezio was slouching into a matching couch with an empty glass of ice pressed against his mouth. “Well, my wife brought you,” Federico said. “It would be unwise to refuse.” He motioned at the couch.

Kadar ended up sitting between Ezio who was glaring at him and Federico who was sipping his liquor in a dark room, looking very much like an over-styled mobster.

“What exactly are your intentions toward our sister?” Ezio asked. He dropped the cup away from his mouth. There was a pink mark from the cold all around his mouth that undercut the severity of his question. 

“That is a good question,” Federico said. He took a drink of his expensive liquor and shifted in his chair so he was looking directly at Kadar. 

“Good?” Kadar said. It was absolutely stupid to be afraid of the two of them. (And at the same time, he couldn’t imagine anyone except Altair that wouldn’t be afraid of them.) “I think, my intentions are good.”

Federico was not amused by his mumbling. “What exactly do you offer my sister that makes you worth her time?” He glanced him up and down, “I understand what Altair gets out of your brother—the baby needs someone who will not treat him kindly. But you’re—” 

“Large,” Ezio said.

“Not very handsome,” Federico added.

“You’ve got a strange nose.” Ezio tipped outward to look at from another angle and Kadar couldn’t stop himself from covering his face with a hand.

“You’ve got no money.”

Ezio sighed, “And I’ve heard you’re majoring in behavioral sciences of some sort?” He looked over at his brother who snorted at his life’s goals like they were worthless. “There’s no career in that.”

“So,” Federico said, “you don’t have looks,” he held up one finger.

“No future,” Ezio added and his brother held up a second finger.

“No money, no connections,” two more fingers.

“No class,” Ezio said. He seemed to take a special sort of glee at pointing that out.

“Not Italian,” Federico said. “Not Catholic.”

Ezio sighed. “You’re not very assertive.”

“Is that a plus or a minus?” Federico asked. He wavered with his finger half lifted. “Perhaps we should consider what Claudia would find attractive. Perhaps his lack of assertiveness is a plus for her; she’ll never have to worry about him ruining her plans.”

“This is true,” Ezio agreed. “But she will have a husband that won’t defend her. Therefore, it is a minus.”

“Well, I’m not a dick,” Kadar said. He was looking at Ezio when he said it and maybe he’d been raised up on the notion of Ezio as the sweet-faced brother with a friendly laugh and an approachable air. So, he was unprepared, entirely, for Ezio’s smile to get pointed at the end and that friendly superiority to turn _rabid_. 

“Do you want her money?” Ezio asked him. “Or perhaps you are only interested in her looks—she is a very beautiful woman, no man could blame you for making the attempt. She’s had men like that before, you know.”

Federico snorted, his body shifted so his bare arms stuck and dragged against the arm chair. He was suddenly very close to Kadar, looking right at him with his voice smelling like liquor and his remorseless eyes looking straight through him. “We took care of those men. We simply cannot let any man who takes an interest use our sister to satisfy himself.”

(Retrospectively, being so scared of the boat he puked was the real high point of his day.)

“Yeah,” he agreed, “she told me about that guy who said he loved her just so he could sleep with her.”

Ezio’s arm went across Kadar’s shoulders (that he didn’t even realize he had slumped forward. He didn’t even realize he’d been folding himself into a ball) and his voice was low and close when he said, “what do you think we did to him?”

Federico was still staring at him. Malik liked to say he didn’t understand why people were so scared of the man because he wasn’t nearly as frightening in person as he was in stories. That must have been the difference in the Al-Sayf brothers, because Malik wasn’t afraid of human monsters and Kadar couldn’t help but think that this bastard was capable of _anything_. 

Kadar said, “probably something he still hasn’t forgotten.” 

“Smart man,” Federico said. He leaned back in his seat again and waved his hand at Ezio so the man would also retreat. Since they were all separate people again, Federico took another drink and cleared his throat, “so, what are your intentions toward our sister?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” was Sofia walking into the room. She didn’t look even slightly convincing as she said it. While he’d always personally felt she was a pretty-sort of woman, he’d never felt any kind of overwhelming love for her. (She told him that was because he hadn’t forgiven her for his brother’s arm and he thought it was just because they didn’t have much in common.) But she was an angel summoned from heaven itself, walking in with her long skirt swishing around her legs and her hands on her hips as she looked down at Ezio.

The man was thirty (four? Five? Something) but he looked at her like a guilty little child. He did not speak and Sofia did not lecture, but stand there with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows lifted. After a breathless minute of this lack-of-communication, she said, “maybe you think about it a little longer.” Then she looked sideways at Federico who didn’t pretend to be innocent. “Cristina would like you to check on the children.”

Federico drained his glass and got to his feet. 

Kadar did not want to run for his life; so he got up slowly and smiled at Ezio who did not smile back. He didn’t walk quickly but slowly and with full concentration to keep his shoulders back and his breathing perfectly even. Once he’d escaped the room, he leaned against the wall and shoved both his hands into his hair. He was still standing there when Sofia came out of the room, she looked at him like his brother did. “Look,” he said before she could go reaching for her phone, “I’ve got this under control. Don’t tell Malik.”

“He knows I’m here,” she said. “He’s knows you’re here. He asks.”

“I’ve got this. Tell him all’s well.” Kadar waited for her to nod before he said, “thanks.”

\--

> **Kadar**
> 
> Lets be real your cousins are dicks. While I like to think that Sofia will listen to me and leave Malik out of the loop I feel like her loyalty falls very strongly on his side so if he asks she’ll answer  
> So I’m appealing to you as a rational minded human  
> I am capable of handling this and for the good of all our future relationships I need to handle it  
> Don’t let Malik convince you to interfere  
> Not a text, not a threat, not a in person appearance  
> Please
> 
> I’m willing to tentatively agree under two conditions. One you tell me what they did
> 
> And two, you agree to let me know if it becomes something you cannot handle.
> 
> They said mean things to me and were generally intimidating.  
>  They’re both bullies, they acted like bullies.  
>  I’ll tell you if it gets out of hand. But it won’t.
> 
> They are assholes. Good luck.

Malik was spending the day with his Mother, so Altair invited himself over to Desmond’s house. Lucy was doing homework in the kitchen, with her fist pressed against her cheek and her books spread out across the whole table. She glanced up at him (after he walked in through her unlocked front door and meandered through her house without a single sound of alarm) without moving her head. “He’s at the park with Peyton.”

Altair offered her the coffee he’d brought for Desmond and she took it, took a drink, grimaced at it and found a place in the spread of papers to safely set it. “You want company?” he asked.

Lucy sat back against the chair. “Do you?” she asked back.

“I’m just waiting for my husband to hear about his brother,” Altair said. He pulled out the chair opposite her, ducked low enough to pick up a few kernels of corn that Peyton must have rejected and threw them into the trash before he sat down.

“I’m waiting to hear why you aren’t handling it,” Lucy said. She dropped her pencil on her open book and dropped both her hands to her lap. With her hair pulled back and her face pinked from the pressure of her fist she looked even less tolerant than normal. “We made an agreement that nothing happened to that kid.”

“He asked me to let him handle it.”

Lucy scoffed at that. Then she rolled her eyes and looked out the window at the backyard (in a constant state of improvement, so he heard). She was surly and discontent, either stuck on a concept in her books or just bored of being held down in one place. It caught up to her—just like this. “So, what happens if he can’t?”

“That depends on how angry my husband is,” Altair said. “I’d like to forego violence when I can. But there are just some things that Malik can’t forgive.” He reached out to pick up one of the papers and got his hand slapped for his attempt. Early on—very early on—he’d offered to help Lucy with whatever she was studying and she’d laughed at him. 

They regarded one another.

“Desmond says you’re tearing down the fence,” he said.

“I plan to. We’ve even picked out the one we’re replacing it with.” And then, “did they hurt Kadar?”

“They were mean to him,” Altair said. “Want to go buy some sledgehammers and break down your fence?”

Lucy pretended to think about it, idly picked at the pages of her text book and then slapped it shut very suddenly. She was up on her feet, gathering papers. “You and your husband need to stop fighting about your stupid house. Get your shit together because if I have to listen to my child or husband tell me how much they miss you one more fucking time, I’m going to drive to your place and kick you in the balls myself.” She stuffed all of her things into her bag and left it sitting in the chair. 

“I think we got most of it worked out,” Altair said. “We’re meeting with contractors about the work this week.”

“Good,” she said. “Can we buy a chainsaw too?”

“Sure.” 

\--

> **Desmond**
> 
> I believe we agreed to let one another know about catastrophes.  
> My wife and cousin are in my back yard taking down a fence with two sledgehammers and a chainsaw.  
> I know for a fact Malik has not pissed Altair off.
> 
> Maybe you pissed Lucy off
> 
> That’s possible but she would have told me.  
>  This has all the earmarks of misplaced hostility.  
>  Is everything okay?
> 
> Well are they smiling while they work?
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Then everything’s fine.
> 
> I am having some trouble with the dick brothers
> 
> Ah.  
>  Are you okay?
> 
> Well, I’m not sure if Claudia is upset because I’m a giant baby
> 
> Or her brothers. I feel like it’s the former
> 
> I doubt you’re right.  
>  The secret to the brothers is separating them.  
>  Also, remember Ezio doesn’t matter. He’s a set piece. Federico is patriarch.
> 
> He’s the bigger dick
> 
> If you ask Altair, Ezio’s the one to watch out for.
> 
> So separate them?
> 
> Yes. Disregard Ezio. He doesn’t matter. Ask Federico, be polite and direct.  
>  He’ll say yes, everything will be fine.
> 
> So just ‘I want to marry your sister’
> 
> Yes.

Kadar had not slept the night before. Claudia had slept in fits, quick starts and quick stops. He didn’t want to talk about and she was either giving him the time or thinking he was worthless (it could go either way) so neither of them fell asleep until almost dawn. 

He woke up to her sitting up in bed, reading something off her phone. Her fingers were stroking through his hair while she read, and he kissed her thigh just below the short end of her sleeping shirt. He watched her face when he did it, saw the smile sneak across her face and thought (well he hadn’t completely ruined it). “What are we doing today?”

“They’re both gone,” she said to the question he didn’t ask. “I imagine Sofia has demanded to be given a tour. Cristina likes the beach.” Her hand went still in his hair and she dropped her phone to look at his face. “I do not understand why this is difficult for you,” she said (but not as a reproach, as an effort toward honesty), “but I would really prefer that you simply ask today so we can move on. I had not anticipated staying this long.”

“What else are we doing?” Kadar asked. 

Claudia slid down to lay next to him. Her leg fit over his with practiced ease and she pressed her cheek against his face. There was nobody in the whole of the house to hear them, but she was whispering (anyway), “I would like to take you to meet my Mother.”

Oh, but that was one of those questions of loyalty. That had nuclear repercussions, so he was whispering (just like her) so not even the walls could hear. “I thought none of you had contact with her.”

“We do not,” Claudia said. “It was agreed by all of us that we should communicate to her that she has not been forgiven because we do not feel that her apologies are sincere. None of us have spoken to her; everything regarding my Mother is handled through my cousin’s lawyers. I expected that it would simple to put her out of my mind.”

“But,” he prompted.

“It has been nearly a full year since we sent her away and she has not tried to call or send an e-mail. Christmas came and went and we did not receive even the most basic of cards from her. I went to my cousin and I asked if his lawyers were redirecting any mail from my Mother and he said they had anticipated doing so but no mail had been sent.” Claudia sounded angry but her face was pinched in _hurt_. “She clearly does not care about her children and as even Desmond was afforded the opportunity to say what he needed to his father, I do not believe any of my cousins would tell me I could not do the same with my Mother.”

Kadar sighed. “You should tell them,” he said. “If they find out any other way, they’ll never believe you.”

“I will tell them, after you ask.” Because she could not tell them before. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll take care of it today.”

\--

> **Leonardo**
> 
> I have heard that Ezio’s been misbehaving.
> 
> From who
> 
> Both of them. Curiously, Sofia was less informative.  
>  Ezio will always tell on himself once he’s been caught.
> 
> How noble
> 
> Do you have some enlightening piece of information to add?
> 
> Nothing that would be useful to you at present.  
>  Unless you would like to know exactly how angry Sofia is.
> 
> 1-10?
> 
> 13
> 
> Good

Federico came home in the late afternoon, looking sun-baked and overwhelmed. He collapsed in the upstairs, in a strange little not-room with a couch and a balcony that overlooked the grand room beneath it. (Kadar recognized the room, from a very old picture, where Leonardo and Altair had had their fight.) He wasn’t a monster with sand in his hair and his youngest son sleeping on his chest. He was only a man, exhausted from the effort of living through another day. 

Vittoria was laying on the floor by his feet, idly pushing one of her toy horses across a rug—looking very much like she was about to pass out without warning. 

“I need to talk to you,” Kadar said. He stepped very carefully around Vittoria and sat in a chair where Federico could see him. It wasn’t entirely fair to catch him so soon after he walked in the door, or to accost him when he was surrounded by his own children. But it seemed, especially after the night before, that it evened out the playing field. 

Federico sighed and pressed both hands around his son’s back so he could keep him still as he shifted his body to look more fully at Kadar. “I sincerely doubt it will be relevant again in your lifetime but conversations such as these generally occur in more formal environments.” 

“I could put on a tie if you want,” he said.

That made Federico smile. “That’s not necessary.”

“I love Claudia and I would like to marry her.” After two days of prolonged anxiety and a night of no sleep, the words seemed too small to be worth the effort. 

Vittoria looked up from the floor to squint at him and then sat back on her knees to look at her father. Federico was just looking at him, his two fingers pinching together the fabric of the cushion next to him, squeezing and releasing it while he dragged out the silence. When he finally opened his mouth he said, “just—you’re not converting to Catholicism, right?” He lifted his hand to motion in the air, “because Ezio’s still got to get married and I can’t sit through more than one more damned Catholic wedding. I just can’t.”

Kadar was working through every acceptable response to that statement and he was leaning toward just nodding, but he found himself exploding with: “what was last night about!”

Federico was chuckling like he found the whole affair funny, “oh, come on. She could not possibly have sent you without telling you we would harass you.”

“That’s not funny,” Kadar snapped. “You’re not harmless. Remember, I’m from the other side of the family, the one with Desmond where you’re a storybook villain about sixty percent of the time. There’s no story where people laugh about how you—” and he just barely remembered Vittoria was sitting there listening to his every word, “—you know.”

“Yes, yes,” Federico said. He didn’t look even a little apologetic. “I have been informed that I was in error. I did not mean to make you so uncomfortable.” He was smiling (still not looking sorry) when he said, “I am curious about one thing. This other half of the family that you mention—I had expected more noise.”

“I’m sure you’ll hear about it at Christmas,” he said. 

“He would have done anything for you.” The implication was echoes of old wars, and old threats—there was something unfinished between Federico and Altair. It lingered there, along the clear divide of the Auditores and Altair (and everyone that fell into his side). Neither of them, exactly, had the inclination to start the fight, but it existed nonetheless.

Kadar nodded. “I asked him not to. It’s important to me that we have a good relationship. I have a close family; I don’t know how close we’ll ever be but, it’s important that Claudia never feels that she is obligated to choose.”

“When I met your brother for the first time, I said to him: do not be kind to the baby. Do not listen to the noise of my family.” He smiled at the memory, like it was a fond thing, “be kind to my sister? I think my Mother starved her of kindness.” He sighed then and sat up, when he did, he shifted how Pietro was laying so the boy was cradled in his arm rather than against his chest. “Ah, a word of advice about my Mother,” how he knew about Claudia’s intentions was a mystery, “show no mercy.” 

Cristina came into the room looking fresh from a shower. She looked at the scene with a critical eye and looked directly at her husband. “Is everything alright?” she asked.

Federico nodded, “Claudia is getting married.” He lifted Pietro up so Cristina could take the boy and Vittoria hopped up directly into the empty space in Federico’s lap. It was obvious from his flat-frown that he hadn’t intended to be trapped, but he let the girl lay her head against his shoulder without protest. 

Cristina just smiled at it. “Try not to let her sleep, I’m heating up something quick for dinner.”

“I’m not sleepy,” Vittoria mumbled with her eyes closed.

Federico chuckled, all low and deep, as he tipped his head back against the couch. “You puked on Ezio,” he said. “I almost offered to marry you.”

“I didn’t puke _on_ him.”

That didn’t seem to matter, Federico was laughing all over again. His whole body vibrated with the effort. “You did. And he slid,” Federico smoothed his hand through the air, “off the boat—you couldn’t see his face, oh God,” he mumbled between coughing up laughs. “It was beautiful. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. Since there was no reason not to, he let out a laugh he’d been too afraid to express before. He had seen Ezio’s face—bent out of shape by horror and disgust—as he slid backward off the boat. And he’d seen him, as angry as a wet cat, when he climbed back on the boat. “That was good, wasn’t it?” he said.

Federico laughed so loud, Vittoria jumped and it must have woken up Pietro because he started crying from his room down the hall. Cristina would be back in a second, telling them both they were stupid and they’d woken him up but for just that moment, everything was perfect.

\--

> **Malik**
> 
> Tell Altair everything is fine
> 
> Was everything not fine?
> 
> My in-laws are all dicks
> 
> So everything was not fine?
> 
> Some things were not fine.
> 
> Because of the brothers?
> 
> Yes. But its fine now
> 
> So tell him, so he can return to normal operating standards
> 
> You’ll explain when you’re home?  
>  And you’re really fine?
> 
> I am perfect; I even got job well done sex.
> 
> I’ll tell him.

Kadar found his way to the garden in the morning. He found himself sitting on the bench opposite Petruccio’s statue. There was nothing but space and sweet sunshine to keep him company, and nobody (except this statue, except this child that had come and gone again) to interrupt. So he sat, with his forearms across his thighs and watched the way the light moved across the eagle’s wings. He memorized the shadows and the grooves and the pointed bits.

He put all of his thoughts into order: all his rubbed-raw places that irritated wounds he’d tried to leave behind in high school. 

But he kept thinking (over and _over_ ) about Federico looking at him across a little room saying something stupid like: _be kind to her_ and how a few years ago he’d asked Claudia god-damn Auditore to his prom because he was lonely and he was sad and he thought he saw something very much the same when he looked at her.

He thought of her with tears in her eyes at Lucy’s wedding.

But-he-didn’t, because he thought of his Mother as far back as he could remember her. He thought of her, in the kitchen, at the old card table, making tea for little boys with nightmares. It didn’t seem to matter to his Mother (not once) that he wouldn’t drink the tea but that it was there, in the little white cups, for him to wrap his fingers around. 

He was half-way through working out the exact moment, he knew he was going to marry Claudia (but there were a dozen or six dozen or) when he was interrupted by a short-shadow and a politely cleared throat. Kadar looked over his shoulder and found Ezio standing there (looking perfect) with both of his fists shoved into his pants pockets. 

“I’ve been sent to apologize,” Ezio said.

“By which one?” Kadar asked.

Ezio snorted and came around to sit on the bench at his side. He looked up at the statue like he’d never exactly figured out how he felt about it either, and he shrugged. “All of them,” he said. When he looked at Kadar, he seemed to be trying to work out why it was worth the effort, but then again he said, “despite our crude attempts at humor, my brother and I genuinely believe that Claudia deserves to get what she wants. She could have had any man, but she was fortunate to find one that would place as much value on her well-being.”

“That’s not an apology,” Kadar said. 

“I was insensitive and out of line, I understand that I was malicious and hurtful to you and I am sorry that I caused you distress,” Ezio said. The most amazing part of the entire apology was how very little he cared about it. He was there, nonetheless, not bothering to smile as he spit out all those words.

“That’s not an apology either,” Kadar said, when it might have been just as easy to let him get away with it.

Ezio smiled at him, like a little boy with his hand in a cookie jar, and his hands ran down his thighs toward his knees. “It’s very hard to apologize when you are not sorry,” he said. “Federico likes you. I assure you that’s a much more valuable prize than my apology.”

Kadar shifted on the bench, put his elbow on the back of it and watched Ezio mirror the action. They were at-odds, a set of strange rivals. Out in the sunshine, removed of closed-quarters and an audience, Ezio was nothing but ugly bravado. “Do you know what the purpose of an apology is?” but he shook his head before Ezio could answer, “of course you do not. It is very simple, apologies are not for _you_. An apology, when done correctly, is to acknowledge that you have done something wrong—whether you did it on purpose or not—and that you are aware of the consequences of your action. Your apology says to the person that you have hurt, I was wrong and you got hurt because of it.”

“I have been made aware of your feelings,” Ezio said.

“I doubt you have,” Kadar said. “If I had an infinity to explain to you my feelings, I doubt you could understand them. Empathy, or hell, even sympathy requires a depth of character and thought that you simply are not capable of. We all have our faults,” he conceded. “My fault is that I am too sensitive and your fault is that you never developed past the egocentric stage.”

Ezio was frowning at him now, gearing up for a fight.

“You don’t want me to cause shit for you. So, you need me to tell my brother and his friends that we’re fine,” Kadar said just before Ezio could get in a word in, “the thing is, I’m not interested in making your life difficult. I don’t want any more in fighting or drama. So, I can accept you as-is. Unless you come to me with fake apologies.”

They were quiet then, regarding one another. Kadar was huge in comparison to Ezio but there was no doubt who would win in a fight—it shivered in and out of clarity: the intent to turn things violent. Whether Ezio reasoned out it would cause too many problems with his lovers or he decided it was morally wrong, he did not hit Kadar. He smiled as he nodded, “that’s acceptable.” But, “I’m not a child though. Just because I don’t care about how you feel doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“From where I sit, there’s not really a difference.”

Ezio nodded again, “if you hurt Claudia, I’ll kill you.” (And he meant it exactly as he said it.) But he picked himself up off the bench and motioned toward the kitchen, saying, “Claudia asked you to come to breakfast before you leave.”

\--

> **Kadar**
> 
> How’s Altair?
> 
> He was using appropriate coping strategies
> 
> Sledgehammers and a chainsaw?
> 
> The chainsaw was for me.
> 
> Did something happen?
> 
> I presently hate college.
> 
> I heard you threw up on Ezio
> 
> Yes. And threw him off the boat.  
>  You should ask Federico to tell the story, he does it better.

Lucy woke up with Peyton, far-far too early in the morning. They were snuggled up in bed, looking at books and talking about the things that were terribly important to a two year old. They must have fallen asleep, because she got shaken awake by Desmond’s hand on the back of her elbow. 

“It’s nine thirty,” Desmond whispered. 

Peyton was snoring into her pillow, with her little body curved forward against Lucy’s chest. She was sucking on her thumb with a puddle of drool on the pillow. Her hair was in terrible tangles that would take a small eternity to brush out. But just then, she was a perfect little angel and there was nothing wrong in the whole world. Lucy kissed her head as she eased sideways and down toward the end of the bed. Peyton sighed but slept-on. She needed to wake up for sticking-to-schedule reasons, but Lucy pulled Desmond over to wrap her arms around his waist and rest her head against his chest. “She’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?”

“She really is,” Desmond agreed. “If you want to meet these contractors with Altair and Malik, we’re going to have to wake her up.”

“This is a train wreck I need to see,” Lucy said. Just not yet, just one more minute to enjoy the quiet and the peace. She stood up and slid her hands up Desmond’s back, leaned her whole body against his just to enjoy the nearness of it. “You’re pretty amazing too,” she said.

He kissed her temple and smiled. “I love you.” 

\--

**guyfawkes23** : @ **bestofthree** , I just want to borrow him a moment when he’s free. Whenever is best for you (3m ago)  
**bestofthree** : @ **guyfawkes23** , I imagine we’ll stop by in the next week then. You can have him because he’s embarrassing to take shopping. (1m ago)

It had taken a day and a half of quiet travel to deliver them the distance between the old family villa and the modest house Maria Auditore had found herself exiled to. By Kadar’s standards, it was a grand house—far larger than any single person would ever need—but by the family standards it was almost insulting. He could see that from the car, looking from just behind Claudia’s shoulder. They’d arrived almost ten minutes ago already; the car had shuddered to a halt and the driver (because there must be one) had politely informed them they arrived.

Claudia had reached for the handle but she hadn’t opened the door. It had (and hadn’t) occurred to Kadar that she’d never seen this home that they’d sent Mama Maria to. Maybe she’d been involved in picking it out of available pieces but she hadn’t seen it as a home. There it was: and it must have been terrifying. “I don’t know what to say to her,” Claudia whispered. “There are too many things. I don’t know which ones matter, which ones don’t.”

“Say them all,” Kadar said.

“To give her fresh ammunition?” Claudia sat back against the seat again and looked over at him. Her hand found his, palm-to-palm and so very fragile. “What if we left?”

“We could. We could come back every day, just like this, if you needed to. I don’t think it’ll get any easier if you wait longer, but it might. You might figure out what you want to say.” Kadar’s fingers tightened just briefly around hers and then loosened. “I’m here, no matter what you decide.”

Claudia kissed him and then shoved the car door open. She slid out and was already halfway to the door before Kadar scrambled up to follow after her. He’d been her living doll at the department store, dressed to perfection without explanation, and it made sense now. The wind blew at her skirt and her hair, but Claudia had made armor out of her clothes and her make-up. She was impervious to attack when she raised her hand to knock. In the last few seconds before the door was pulled open from inside, Claudia straightened the misplaced strands of her hair and curved her lips into a smile.

So when the door opened, and Mama Maria looked out, all she saw was her perfect(ly happy) daughter and her perfect(ly dressed) husband. There were no friendly hugs, or tears or even a spare glance of fond remembrance. Mama Maria made a noise in her throat that ran like _arrogance_ into her voice as she said, “I did not initiate this encounter.”

“May we come in?” Claudia asked.

“It’s rude to show up with no warning,” Mama Maria said. She looked at him without a moment to care, not so differently than how Ezio looked at him, and then back at Claudia. “I expected something I taught you to stick.”

Claudia’s smile didn’t falter, “may we come in?” she asked again.

Mama Maria did not answer but step away from the door and leave it open. She didn’t invite them to follow, but walked slow enough they could. She took them out to a little garden at the back of the house, to a little round table with a book and a tall cup of ice water. There was an umbrella by the table to block the worst of the sun, and somewhere in the flower beds, there was a fountain that gurgled and bubbled. 

There were only two chairs and Mama Maria sat without bothering to make even a polite attempt to find another. Kadar was all set to stand or to walk around the garden (or go back to the car) but Claudia narrowed her eyes at her Mother’s bent head and then turned to look up at him. She didn’t speak but motion at the seat with the clear meaning that he should be the one to sit. 

“Ladies should be seated first,” Mama Maria said to him.

“Then you should stand up,” Claudia said. She had not brought a purse with her (because she couldn’t find one to match her outfit) so she had nowhere to put her hands except her hips. She stared down her Mother’s shocked face. 

“I am your Mother,” Mama Maria said, “you should not speak to—” 

“ _Were_ ,” Claudia snapped. “You _were_ my Mother. When I was a child, you were a Mother. You have spent every year since slowly destroying the woman who raised me.”

Mama Maria rolled her eyes, and for the span of a breath, Kadar was _certain_ Claudia was going to punch her. Maybe she didn’t mean to, maybe it was a simple gut reaction, but Claudia’s two hands were balled up into fists and her whole body slid into attack mode. Mama Maria was protected by arrogance so she did not even think to protect herself or keep her mouth shut, she was saying, “I suppose you’ll be crying about how I only loved Petruccio?”

Kadar leaned forward to grab Claudia by the elbow. His chest knocked against the table and made it sway back-and-forth again, the cup of water went sideways and spilled so the ice and water splashed on the stone beneath them. He caught the cup with his free hand before it hit the ground and was still clutching it in one hand as he stood up. “Take a minute,” he whispered against Claudia’s hair. It was never a good time to ask her to exercise restraint, but she pulled her arm free and ran her hands down the front of her blouse. “We’ll be fine,” he promised.

Mama Maria was picking her book up out of the puddle with two fingers. She didn’t address her daughter, the spill, or Kadar when he sat back down. No, she sat in persecuted silence, looking anywhere but at him.

He set the glass back on the table and wiped his fingers on his pants (which his Mother had taught him not to do). He looked around (since Mama Maria was), “this is a nice place. I like the,” he motioned at the flowers, “plants. Did you plant them? Wasn’t that something Altair’s grandmother liked, flowers?”

“Why are you here?” Mama Maria asked.

“Claudia is my wife.”

The way Mama Maria laughed was so brittle, and so honest, that there was no way not to be offended by it. She laughed as if the very idea was so outrageous it couldn’t be conceivable. It was grating and _mean_. 

Kadar smiled along, nodding to the up-down of her laugh. “Yeah,” he rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, “I think it’s pretty great too. I’m not one hundred percent thrilled about having to have a huge public wedding, but I get the feeling it’s something she wants.”

“Why would she marry you?” Mama Maria asked, very much like her sons had asked. There was no dim den, and no younger brother to play off, but the look and the slant of Mama Maria’s body was exactly the same as her sons’. “Love?” She looked back toward the house where Claudia had gone, “or were you vying for an improvement to your status?”

There were a thousand things zipping around his head; a hundred and a half stories that he’d heard during after-dark, after-dinner type parties. There were wounds this woman had laid into her family that would _never_ heal. Kadar had sat at the edge of liquor-sipping cousins, listening to them reminisce like telling fond stories, over all the ways she’d hurt them. More than that (much, much more) was Claudia, in the car, staring out the window. It was an unsent Christmas card and the debacle of the year before when Claudia showed up on his doorstep ready to snap into a thousand pieces. There was nothing but reasons to take Federico’s advice (show no mercy) and no reason to ignore it. But, Kadar leaned forward with his forearms across the wet, rounded edge of the table. “Are you happy?”

“You’re naïve,” Mama Maria said. 

“So were you,” he said.

Mama Maria’s whole body moved away from him at that, like a snake rearing back—if she’d had a tail it would have been rattling. Instead she dropped her book back in the puddle on the table and didn’t even take notice of the way it splashed water across her clothes. Her fingers were like skeleton hands, long and knobby as she pointed at him, “who are you to come to my home and tell me what I am? Who are you to make accusations and to present yourself as a husband! You look like a child, like a stupid child wearing his father’s clothes.”

“I came for Claudia,” Kadar said. He shifted so he could dig his hand into his pocket and pull the ring out. It slid onto his finger (where it belonged) and he held it up so she could see it. 

“Ha,” Mama Maria snapped. “She’ll run through you, and you’ll be nothing.”

“Is that what you did to your husband?” Kadar asked.

Mama Maria slapped her hand against the book and moved to stand up, and when she moved, Kadar moved with her so they were both halfway to standing. She was _outraged_ at him, “why are you in my house?” she demanded.

“Why didn’t you send a Christmas card?” He waited-and-waited-and-waited, halfway to standing, until that hostile stare zeroed in on his wedding ring, until there was a slight give to the brittle stiffness of Mama Maria’s body. “You said, _I didn’t initiate this encounter_ , at the door. Why?”

Mama Maria sat, gracelessly, back into her chair. She laughed at that, at him, at the whole villa around her. “Why should I bother myself? I have given a lifetime of effort and this,” she motioned at the beautiful garden around her, “is what it buys me, I’d just as well do without it.”

“It’s a nice house,” Kadar said.

“It’s an embarrassment.”

“Well then it suits you,” he said. Before she could start squealing about how he insulted her, he moved on, “why didn’t you send a card?”

Then she laughed at him, slow-and-awful, curving her body forward as she did. “I am not allowed.” Her face was old and thin, her skin was freckled with little age spots, but her eyes were vivid even in the shadows. Anger couldn’t sustain her, she picked her hand up out of the puddle and shook it to the side, sneering at the water droplets even while she said, “I’ve read enough contracts in my life to grasp the true meaning of them. I became a woman in Phyllis’ house; I understand the importance of implied threat.” She folded her hands together in her lap.

“Your children said you were not allowed to contact them?” Kadar asked.

“No. Altair said I was not allowed to contact them. He is so similar to Phyllis, he is practically her reincarnation.” Her face was so placid and her words so unconcerned with the truth that it was very nearly believable. All save for how she looked sideways without turning her head, holding her breath in hope that Claudia would come around the doorway to see. 

Kadar nodded along to that thought. “She’s not there,” he said (but she was, just around the turn of the doorway, listening to every word, working out what she wanted to say). “I’m not well-versed in the history of the extended family. I find that a great deal of the retellings are heavily biased. There are maybe, three concrete facts that hold true regardless of the storyteller.” He held up a finger, “Calvin was a monster, Phyllis never loved anyone but Altair, and _you_ used to love your children.” 

“I do love my children,” Mama Maria snapped at him. “Despite what they’ve done to me, despite the disrespect and the humiliation, despite watching them side against me—to cower behind that stupid _fat baby_ and his _money_.”

Oh but, _Altair_ was family. Kadar shifted forward in his seat, so his forearms were against the still-wet sides of the table. “ _She’s_ gone, Mrs. Auditore,” because his Mother taught him respect, “she’s not waiting for you to find the right thing to say to make her come back. She’s not here to fight you, she’s not here to beg you to make amends. She is _gone_. Altair wouldn’t have set you up in a nice house in Italy with a monthly check; he wants you dead.” (And she knew it, just there with her eyes widening ever-so-slightly, she knew exactly what Altair might have preferred to do to her.) “The only reason you are here and not in whatever dungeon Altair would have put you, is that Federico asked them to forgive you.”

Mama Maria snorted at that. 

Kadar sat back again. “You don’t believe it?”

“I have been well-informed on the matter of how damaged my ungrateful son is. I have a pile of paperwork to inform me I will never be forgiven because they’ve decided he might have turned out differently if I’d hugged him more.” Every word was disbelief, but she was looking at him now, not at the door. “Federico was born unhappy and ugly and obedient. Nothing I could have done would have changed it. Even if I could have tried, they would have had him in the end. Better he was prepared for it, better he knew the world and how he fit into it.”

“Did your mother prepare you?”

“My Mother did nothing for me,” Mama Maria hissed at him. “She did not even teach me to read. I gave my children what they needed to survive, what _mattered_.”

Kadar tipped his head and looked at her, really looked at her: all the pink gathering around her eyes and at the edge of her nostrils. He watched the tremor in her throat and the steel-hard resolve in her stare when she looked unflinchingly back at him. “Then you should be proud of them. They took all the things you gave them and they survived. They’re thriving.”

For a minute, Mama Maria’s jaw was clenched so tightly there was no way she could have spoken. He could see it welling up behind her face, every single thing she’d never said, and it seemed like she would rather drown in it.

“You should send them cards,” he said. Then he shrugged because he would hate to impose ideas on her she wasn’t ready for. “You should stop trying to make yourself innocent—there’s nobody here to see that cares. I don’t care for either of your sons; but I _love_ your daughter. You raised an amazing daughter: she’s very strong, and she’s very determined, and she’s very capable.” Mama Maria didn’t look away from him (because of course she wouldn’t; whatever else might have been true about the woman, she had been forged from unforgiving things). “She’s still waiting for you. Federico was right about that, you are still alive. There is still time.”

“I’m not allowed to see them,” Mama Maria said with her voice as raw as fresh-scraped knees.

Kadar shrugged again. “Send a letter.”

Mama Maria touched her nose with the tip of her finger, like it would wipe away the snot that had gathered. She sniffled while she did it and then ran her tongue across her lips. Her eyes closed and then opened again and she wiped at the tear at the edge of her lashes with one of her knuckles before she nodded down at his ring finger. “Is she happy?” 

“Yes,” he said. Really, he should have left it that, because she was nothing but a broken old woman, living out her life in denial. He felt himself getting to his feet, working up an excuse about how he had to go and check on his wife. He’d stayed too long as it was, and there were really better things to do with his time. It wasn’t Claudia (who could speak for herself), or the idiot brothers (who would defend each other), or Altair (who was only waiting for an excuse to kill this woman) that made him linger. His fingers stopped just at the edge of the table while he stood almost-full-height. “I absolutely believe in the importance of forgiveness, and I believe that it’s important for self-growth and happiness. I choose to forgive people regardless of whether or not they want it because I like to believe that beneath it all, they are people that crave love and respect.” He shifted so they were looking at one another, as close as confidants, he spoke clearly and _low_ when he said, “but there are certain crimes for which no man or woman can be forgiven. Desmond _did_ matter. He _mattered_ much more than you thought. They rally around Federico, but we both know the reason you’re here.”

“It had to be done,” Mama Maria said. “Federico would have told his ugly little secret, Giovanni would have destroyed him.” There was no pride in it, for once. 

Kadar straightened up, and Claudia was standing there (brought close by the hush of their voices) with her impeccable armor smudged only around her eyes. She slid her arm through his and ran her hand down to press their palms together. “I only came to say,” Claudia said, and she hesitated there, caught with no ending to her sentence. “Good-bye,” didn’t seem like what she meant at all.

“Claudia,” Mama Maria said. She was on her feet with her arms held out. 

“No,” Claudia said. She shook her head. “I had imagined that things would progress differently. I had hoped that, when faced with the choice between exile and humility that you would have chosen to _apologize_. I had thought that it _mattered_ to you that we protected our brother, our _family_ from harm. It was what you raised us to do,” and Claudia raised her voice just a little at the end, and then dropped it again. She straightened her back and cleared her throat. “In any case, it’s become clear that reconciliation is not a priority. Good bye, Mother,” Claudia said. Then she pulled Kadar toward the door.

\--

> **Altair**
> 
> I know you’ve had this fight with my brother already
> 
> But don’t have kids if you can’t love them
> 
> I’m not my Grandmother. Or my Aunt.
> 
> yeah, well, once upon a time, they weren’t monsters either
> 
> I will love my children.  
>  How is Claudia?
> 
> we’ll be alright
> 
> I got my cabinets.
> 
> How many times did you blow him before he said yes?
> 
> Twice, but the second time was mostly for show.  
>  However you express concern, tell Claudia I care.
> 
> That was a good attempt. I’ll translate it

Kadar invited himself into the bath because it was a giant tub, full of hot water, that smelled of sweet flowers. Claudia leaned forward to give him the space to sit behind her and then almost immediately pulled his hands down to rest against her belly. She leaned back against him, with her wet hair pulling across his chest, and bent her knees so they poked up out of the bubbles. 

“I don’t want to talk about my Mother,” she said. “I know you do; and you think it’s important. I just need time to think it through. I think you were fair and that was more than you needed to be.” She tipped her head to the side and ran her hands down his legs toward his knees, toying with the hair that grew on his legs as she went. 

“We don’t have to talk,” he said. They could just sit in the hot water, and draw nonsense designs on each other’s skin. It had been weeks (before this debacle) since he saw her and he missed the nearness of her. He missed the physical reality of her so he could laid in the water with his hands on her skin and just absorbed the comfort of that closeness. 

Claudia had to talk. Not about her mother, but about _something_. Because the silence was frightening to her. (He hadn’t worked that out yet, exactly what she was scared of, but he knew that the quiet ate away at her.) “Tell me what my brothers said to you.” Like it had only occurred to her. “I was distracted before; but Cristina said I was being careless with you and that I should have known better than to send you in with them alone.”

“I’m a grown man,” he said.

Her hands slid back down his legs and she rolled in the water so she was sitting between his sprawled open legs. Her hands folded over the edge of the tub behind his back and she leaned over him. The bubbles were running down her shoulders and off her arms, getting caught on her breasts in a perfectly distracting way. The wet ends of her hair were stuck on her shoulders, but the dry part hung around her face like curtains as she arched her eyebrow at him. “I am not diminishing your adulthood by expressing concern. My brothers are masters of unnecessary, derogatory cruelty.”

“Bullies,” Kadar shortened for her.

Claudia’s hands dropped down to shove his legs together so she could put her knees across them and she slid into his lap with perfect ease. The nearness wasn’t meant to be inviting, but to hold him in place so she could ferret out what he was hiding. “Please tell me,” she said. (Because I’m your _wife_ , because we _agreed_ to share our secrets, because we _understand_ the dangers of unsaid things and vivid imaginations.) 

“They asked me what my intentions were, and they said I was ugly, had no class and would benefit you in no way.” He shrugged, “so I must just want you because you were beautiful.”

There was murder in Claudia’s face, but her hands were soft as flower petals. Her soapy fingers were tracing his face like it was a work of art (it wasn’t). “You are far more handsome then they are.”

Kadar snorted at that, “nobody is more handsome than Ezio. I appreciate the thought, but reality remains.”

Claudia cupped her hands around his face and kissed him (very sweetly), “Ezio is only nice to look at. Inside he is as ugly as a naked mole rat.” She kissed him again (with that unfortunate imagery knocking around his head), and said, “do you want me to yell at them?”

“I think it’s been handled.” He ran his hands up her back and pulled her hair out of the way so when she tipped her head and kissed him, they weren’t chewing on her hair. His hands were soft-as-cotton skin because he’d never been the sort of man to enjoy manual labor but her skin was newborn soft (from proper moisturizer as she liked to tell him, pointedly, so he understood she would eventually make him use lotion against his will). They were settling in to make something of this intermittent kissing, all save for how she sat back. 

“By who?” she asked.

Kadar was defenseless, reclining in a tub like that. Claudia was nothing but weapons sitting in his lap with her palms pushing at his chest. “Sofia and Cristina, I think?”

“They would not interfere if the teasing was harmless,” which was something Claudia appeared to have inferred but he had not said, “you are aggravating to me, you make everything seem so trivial—I do not know Sofia as well as you but I do know Cristina and she would not interfere if she did not believe damage had been done.”

“Claudia,” he said.

“What about Altair?” she asked.

“He’s not involved.”

“Why isn’t he? Sofia would have told your brother if she felt that you were hurt.”

Kadar sighed and Claudia pinched him (right on the nipple, right where it would smart for a while) and he yelped but she stared at him without remorse. “I was upset,” he said, “your brothers are bullies and they upset me and Sofia would have told Malik that she saw me upset and Malik can’t be rational about anything when it involves me— It wasn’t worth an international incident. I asked Altair to stay out of it. I took care of it.”

Claudia considered that carefully, eyes narrow and fingers stroking across his poor abused nipple. “How upset?”

“It’s over, Claudia.’

“Do I need to hit them?”

He might have sighed if he thought he could get away with it. Instead, he sat up so his arms were looped around her. “Altair and Lucy will hit them. _Harder_ , and they’ll probably enjoy it more. I think it’s important to let them have that.” (Which was only partially true.) “I promise you that I am fine. I even lectured Ezio about proper apologies.”

Claudia smiled at that. “Well, I’ve heard that Federico likes you. Ezio won’t do anything to you as long as Federico likes you. And Federico will like you as long as I do.”

“Oh,” was him just now remembering it, “we can’t have a Catholic wedding.”

“You’re not Catholic,” she said. “Of course we coul—did one of them say we could not?”

“Federico said he didn’t want to sit through a Catholic wedding so he said I should convert you to Islam.” Which was not on his list of things to do, at that moment, or ever. Claudia’s belief system was inconsistent at best and she was ambivalent toward putting effort into any sort of faith. “Don’t make that face,” he said.

“I had to sit through his!” she shouted.

“Yes, and he says we’ll all have to sit through Ezio’s. Neither of us,” the two of them, “want a Catholic wedding. We’re not staging a Catholic wedding out of spite.”

“Don’t let him tell you what to do,” she said. “You’re a man, you’re my husband, he has no dominion over you. I am going to speak to him.” She even moved like she was going to go and find her phone to call and yell at him. Her aggravation had almost nothing to do with her brother (and very much to do with her Mother).

“Wait,” he said with his hands around her hips pulling her back into the water. It sloshed and swished around them. She eyed him with nothing at all like friendliness. “Don’t make that face. I haven’t seen you for weeks. And you’re naked, right here, in front of me.”

“Am I?” she asked. Her smile was willing to be seduced. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I have,” he whispered. He leaned up to kiss her and she put both her arms over his shoulders and kissed him with perfectly violent approval. 

\--

> **Claudia**
> 
> Your brother made my Mother cry.
> 
> Is that good or bad
> 
> I have not figured it out.  
>  I heard everything he said to her, except the very last thing  
>  Whatever it was, it was the first time she has ever looked at anyone with regret
> 
> Must have really been something then
> 
> He’s sleeping
> 
> Isn’t it like 3 AM there?
> 
> 257.  
>  I am sorry that I allowed my brothers to hurt him.
> 
> I don’t know anything about that. I heard Sofia’s pissed though
> 
> I’m reserving judgment until he explains
> 
> He says it was nothing to make a fuss about
> 
> He generally does not understand the purpose of ‘a fuss’
> 
> My Mother couldn’t break him
> 
> Did you want her to?
> 
> No. I just can’t work out how he did it, what he must have said.
> 
> Ask him
> 
> I went to tell my Mother that she didn’t hurt me and I could not. I thought I would tell her that she was insignificant to me, that she did not matter, that her pettiness did not hurt me anymore. I expected to regale her with the tale of how I married your brother and how I had moved on and how I would live the rest of my life without spending another thought on her.  
>  I said none of those things.  
>  I did not even tell your brother.  
>  But he knew.
> 
> Kadar’s always known where to find the weak spots
> 
> What do you think he said
> 
> Whatever she’s most ashamed of
> 
> I cannot imagine my Mother feeling shame.
> 
> I imagine your Mother feels a lot of things
> 
> We have to stop in England that boy who lusts after your Husband wants to have tea. I think we will come home after, I would like to see your Mother.
> 
> Shaun is thirty three, he’s not a boy
> 
> He is an overactive child. I do not know why you are friends with this man.
> 
> I don’t either.
> 
> I’ll give you the subject change but, my advice stands, talk to Kadar
> 
> I will.  
> 

Malik found Altair on the balcony. He wasn’t drinking (but he looked like he wished he were) but looking out at the after-dark city moving. There were streetlights and car lights and traffic lights. A car horn and people’s voices and someone with music playing far too loudly. The sky was dark but the stars were blurred out from clouds and light pollution. He pulled up the second chair and slouched in it so his bare toes were pushed against the railing. 

“I can feel you mentally lecturing me about something,” Altair said. His hands were laying on his stomach, all his fingers threaded together. When he spoke he didn’t look away from the lights in the buildings around them. His phone was on the table between them, quietly buzzing once and going still. Altair didn’t move to pick it up. “It better not be cabinets.”

“I’m not lecturing.”

“Liar.”

“I was attempting to find a way to voice concern. That’s not the same as lecturing.”

Altair laughed. “Your concern is always followed by a lecture.” He did look at Malik then, “if I could see my Grandmother again, I would. I’m not incapable of understanding that. She shouldn’t have taken Kadar.”

“I don’t think Mama Maria’s a match for my brother.”

Altair laughed at that, “no, she probably isn’t.” But, “so, how do you think your Mother is going to handle the wedding?”

“Not well,” Malik said. They had glossed over the topic when they were visiting, and Mother’s resolve to disapprove of all the cousins had not altered a bit. (Except Desmond, because even the devil himself couldn’t have come up with a reason to dislike Desmond.) “I’m looking forward to introducing her to Edward.”

“I thought she hated him.”

“My Mother doesn’t hate people.” (Altair scoffed at that, mumbling under his breath about how perfectly capable his Mother had been at hating _him_.) “I’d put money on him being her favorite by the time the wedding is through.”

“She definitely won’t like Ezio.”

“She loves Claudia,” Malik said.

“She’ll like Cristina, I think. They both have that excessively understanding Mother thing going on. As long as Federico’s wearing a suit and standing in front of a camera, there’s no reason she won’t like him.”

“Ha. The only thing saving Federico is his children. You take those away, and she would disapprove of him on principle. I know my Mother, she’ll spend two seconds with Edward and she’ll have adopted him.”

Altair was laughing at that, “well good. The guy deserves a Mother.” He stretched and growled and then flopped back into the chair all in a single motion. “Are you going to tell me not to pick a fight with the brothers?”

“Did they hurt my brother?” Malik asked.

“I do not believe they physically harmed your brother in any way.”

Malik narrowed his eyes at that answer, and then ran his tongue across his lips. “It’s a waste of my time to tell you not to do things you’ve already decided to do. I save my protests for things that matter.”

“Like cabinets.” Altair was grinning.

“Yes. Cabinets are important. If I tell you not to punch your cousins, you’ll be angry and sullen and go to England. If I tell you that I don’t want cabinets, you put time and effort into finding a set of cabinets that are worth the cost and good for the environment so I’ll agree to them.” He smiled at Altair’s glower, “and the blow jobs are good too. I like the blow jobs.”


End file.
